Heart of Ice
by CaptainReina
Summary: Nobody would guess what Viktor is like when the cameras aren't rolling. Yuuri doesn't know it isn't right. Yurio can't decide whether to move on and live his own life or save his rival from a fate he almost shared. HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**warning: this is not going to be a fluffy fic and may even have some triggering content for some. if you were looking for cute viktuuri, look elsewhere.**

.-.-.-.-.

"Do your best out there, Yuuri!"

A wave and a soft smile answered the Russian. Fans cooed at the cute couple, cheering each other on even as they competed against one another. The final rounds of the Grand Prix were upon the skaters, and tension was high, but the sight of the fiancés warmed the hearts of everyone that witnessed them - with the exception of the ever-disgusted Yurio, who glowered spitefully at Victor from several feet away. What wasn't there to love about them, after all?

Yurio could probably tell you, but it wasn't his place.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yuuri knew, too, why someone wouldn't appreciate their relationship. But nobody else did; nobody heard them behind closed doors, nobody noticed how cold Viktor's smile could get, nobody realized how subdued Yuuri had really become. For all the adoration of his fans, unfortunately, they were too busy romanticizing to know.

More unfortunately, Yuuri Katsuki didn't think it was as bad as it really was. Didn't realize. Didn't understand.

Still, he heard the unspoken, _don't disappoint me,_ as the music started.

He knew Viktor loved him. Why else would he have accepted his affections, proposed to him, spent hundreds on him, coached him, turned him into one of the world's best skaters? Him, Yuuri, who wasn't worth the effort? Who couldn't even win gold for Viktor? Who didn't deserve the Russian champion?

Suddenly, a fumble. Of course. Viktor always told him he shouldn't think when he's skating.

Dread settled in his stomach, and he slipped again. Tears pricked at his eyes - not only was his wrist now throbbing from catching himself, but that was his _second_ slip up. How could he make that up? He looked to his fiancé for encouragement, but Viktor's expression was unreadable.

Fear joined the dread. He knew he'd disappointed his coach.

The song ended too soon, and his fans went wild despite his mistakes, hyping up their favorite Japanese skater. Once, it would have warmed his heart.

"Viktor . . . "

"Not now."

Now his chest was nothing but a yawning abyss, a painfully empty chasm as his fiancé didn't even look at him before stepping off onto the ice.

He didn't even win bronze.

.-.-.-.-.

It was days before Viktor looked at him again. He called Yuuri to his bedroom, and he found himself kneeling before his fiancé, who was seated on the bed in nothing but a robe. His heart thundered loudly in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, and Viktor finally met his eyes. Yuuri almost wished he hadn't. Almost.

"I'm disappointed," Viktor told him after a pause, and that hurt more than anything else he could have said.

It wasn't until tears were pricking at soft brown eyes that the coach finally relented. He tilted Yuuri's chin up before grabbing his hand, pulling the younger up into his lap. His hands kneaded at his lover's back as Yuuri hid his face in his shoulder.

"You understand, right?" Viktor crooned, sliding his hands up Yuuri's shirt. His fingers were cold against his abs, and he shuddered but didn't pull away. "I had to punish you. You won't get any better if I'm nice."

Yuuri nodded dimly, wrapping his arms around his fiancé. All he wanted was to get closer. Despite the chill of Viktor's fingers, he felt a warmth spread through his chest. It was a nice contrast from the cold abyss that had swallowed him since he placed fifth and Viktor started ignoring him.

"You're a sensation," the silver-haired man continued in a purr. His hands traveled to the waistband of Yuuri's sweats, making the other's breath hitch. "I'm responsible for making sure you're not a disappointment."

It stung, but Yuuri knew it was true. Viktor only said it out of concern, anyways. Yuuri needed to improve. He was just looking out for his student. Not to mention how he pampered Yuuri with these pleasant touches, the intimacy, kisses and marks and wandering hands whenever the topic was breached.

He loved Yuuri. He just wanted to help.

"You didn't even place in the top three this time." Hurtful words, tactfully ignored to focus on the hands wandering under his belt. "You're going to lose all your fans at this point." Teeth grazing his shoulder, exposed by a low cut shirt, making him crane his neck to silently plead for more. "I won't stand for any more performances like that." A bite at his throat, a squeeze of his ass, and a small, helpless whine.

It was always like this. Mind-blowing sex that made the harsh words blur, even when they got more and more venomous, even when each thrust accompanied an insult, a degrading name. Disappointment. Pathetic. Stupid. He was nothing without Viktor.

But drunk as he was on the euphoria, on Viktor's thick cock inside him and teeth in his shoulder, he could pretend they were sweet nothings, whispered in the moonlight out of true love.

"Worthless," was the hiss that accompanied Viktor's release as he left Yuuri without.

"Priceless," was the smooth hum he heard instead, and he lay there, still sore and needy, simply basking in the warm affection that washed over him at Viktor's forgiveness.

.-.-.-.-.

After that, things went back to normal. The sun still rose, the birds still sang, and the world moved as it always had, but Viktor was happy, Yuuri was happy, even Makkachin was happy - though it seemed he was perpetually happy, easily bought out by warmth, food, and affection. They ate breakfast together the next morning, Yuuri serving omurice and bacon, Viktor sipping black coffee freshly ground and seeped by Yuuri, Makkachin noisily feasting on both kibble and scraps. Yuuri's heart filled with warmth during such a quiet, soft morning, and Viktor's lips were so sweet when he kissed his fiancé goodbye.

"I've got to speak with the press," he reminded Yuuri. "They'll want to know what happened."

"Shouldn't I come with?" Yuuri asked, uncertain and a little hopeful. Viktor gave his prize-winning smile, ruffling Yuuri's hair like he would pet Makkachin's head.

A pet, beneath him, far under his league.

No, Yuuri scolded himself. Cute, endearing, someone Viktor wanted to protect and care for.

"I think people are tired of seeing you, don't you?"

Yuuri looked down, wringing his hands and biting his lip. They probably were, huh? Nobody wanted to listen to a disappointment like him blubber and make excuses. That was all he was really good at.

"Well . . . " Yuuri looked back up at him, attempting a small smile through the guilt. "Good luck."

The kiss Viktor gave him was perfect. Sweet, intense, breathtaking, finished off with a light tug on his bottom lip, and Yuuri was melting in his arms.

"I love you," Viktor purred to him.

"I love you, too," Yuuri sighed dreamily against his lips.

He didn't want to let go, but a warning glare and a hand removing his from the lapel of his coach's jacket had him quickly relocating his grip to the hem of his own shirt, remembering his place just in time. He didn't know when he'd reached out, honestly. What a silly mistake to make. What a stupid thing to waste Viktor's time with.

The door slammed shut behind him without another word, and Yuuri was left with both an empty house and an empty chest.

It was times like these that Yuuri tended to allow the hopeless feeling to overwhelm him, and he shamed himself for it. Viktor didn't want him to be seen _he's just protecting you_ and didn't talk to him this morning _you didn't talk to him either,_ not to mention how angrily he left _he already said goodbye, idiot._ This morning, however, a loud, jarring chime interrupted his thoughts, and he dove for his phone with a grateful sigh.

 _"Yuu-ri!"_ came Phichit's staticky voice from the other end, drawing out the first syllable of his best friend's name in a teasing lilt. _"I know you're probably busy today with the press and whatnot, but I was wondering if afterward - "_

"Actually . . . " Yuuri's voice came out softer than he would have liked, barely strong enough to be heard over the phone, but thankfully loud enough to give Phichit pause. He cleared his throat, and take two was easily more audible. "Actually, I'm not going out today. Viktor said he'd deal with the press."

 _"Well, that's nice and . . ._ professional _of him,"_ Phichit said, sounding surprised, and something else Yuuri couldn't quite decipher. It was gone before he could even try. _"In that case, why don't you and I go out to lunch today?"_

Yuuri's heart seemed to catch for a moment. There were a few moments of awkward silence as he carefully stilled the rapid beating that followed, refusing to be hung up on something so small. "I can't," he said apologetically, as though the lapse had never happened. "Viktor doesn't let me go out for a while after competitions. He says I need a break from the outside world."

 _To protect you from the naysayers,_ Viktor had said, and then added, _or in the case that you somehow_ do _end up winning gold, to keep you humble._

 _"Then I'll just come over,"_ Phichit declared, undeterred. _"I'll bring food."_

"I already ate breakfast," Yuuri tried, fervently hoping it would chase his friend off the idea. As if he needed to make Viktor angry with an unannounced guest, and as if he needed to financially burden yet another person, he thought. "Thanks, though."

 _"Nonsense!"_ the Thai skater insisted. _"I'll bring extra for you anyways."_ And then he hung up.

Anxiety ripped through Yuuri's body with a violent shudder. Phichit was coming over, and nothing Yuuri could say would stop him, it seemed. With a soft sigh, he set to work on his chores to fight the rising panic in his chest. A sharp whistle had Makkachin trotting over to the back door with him, and Yuuri let him out into the backyard before gathering the breakfast dishes and taking them to the sink to rinse off, including the poodle's food and water bowl. He wiped down the table with a soapy rag and pushed the chairs back in, and, after washing the dishes, went to clean the counters.

At first, Yuuri had been ashamed of taking such housewife duties. Now, however, as he rummaged through the utility closet for a broom with the familiar scent of lavender multi-purpose cleaner in his nose, he felt at ease. The mundane repetition of cleaning was soothing to him, and as long as he did things right, Viktor would praise him for a job well done.

As long as he didn't come across Phichit, that was.

Yuuri didn't know how much time had passed - minutes? Hours? - but his arms were full of laundry when Makkachin started up in a howling bark outside. A loud knock on the door made him jump, and his heart pounded as he hurried to open it.

"Yuuri!" Phichit greeted warmly, crushing his friend in a hug, disregarding the clothes he held. Yuuri fervently hoped they hadn't wrinkled. The Thai skater allowed himself in, plopping down on the couch and dropping a bag of Chinese takeout on the coffee table.

"Phichit," Yuuri said back, notably more timid. He gestured lamely to the clothes in his arms. "I was just . . . doing laundry."

Phichit's eyes widened a little, looking embarrassed. "Oh - oh! Sorry." He scratched at the back of his head sheepishly. "I didn't mean to interrupt, uh . . . I can help!" He reached for a basket sitting next to the couch, the whites. Yuuri darted forward at the same time, panic jump starting his muscles, and he was yanking the basket away faster than Phichit could blink.

"No!" he blurted, and then, when Phichit stared at him, he blushed and said more softly, "No, it's okay. Viktor is . . . picky."

He couldn't stand to meet his best friend's eyes. He knew Phichit was staring, wondering what the hell was wrong with him, probably regretting coming by. That was fine. It hurt, but it was better for Phichit to just grab his food and leave than -

"No, I get it," Phichit interrupted his thoughts, sounding distinctly uncertain. "I mean, I'm kind of a mess at home," he joked. "Nobody would want me organizing their wardrobe."

Yuuri let out a slow held breath, and finally let a relieved smile cross his face. "You know those elite skaters," he relented. "Waited on hand and foot. He wants things perfect."

Neither of them really believed in the light way he said it, but they acted anyways, for the other's sake. Yuuri continued to fold laundry, eventually putting them all away and settling on the couch next to his friend. Phichit rambled about his hamsters and social media, and how he was thinking about making another Instagram account solely to show off his babies. Food came out at some point, and Yuuri realized how hungry he was - he hadn't eaten much that morning - so it was with a sense of euphoria that he stuffed his face with lo mein and let Phichit rant away, hardly listening to what was being said.

"What do you think, Yuuri?"

Yuuri was the exact opposite of the definition of grace, mid-bite with chopsticks in his mouth and cheeks bulging. He swallowed sheepishly. "What were you saying?"

Phichit feigned hurt. "You never do listen to me!" He shook his head. "Changing looks. What are you going to do this year?"

Yuuri shrugged, tilting his head. "I never really think about it. Viktor always decides these things for me." He shrugged once more, twirling more noodles around his chopsticks. "I don't really care. He knows what looks good on me. I don't know all that fashion stuff."

"Well _I_ think you should start with a haircut," his friend teased, ruffling the black mop. "It's getting so long!" He moved to pull up Yuuri's hair, as if about to put it in a ponytail. "It's all the way to . . . "

He trailed off, and Yuuri gave him an inquisitive glance. Phichit's expression was unreadable, his smile fading into something indecipherable. Growing uncomfortable, Yuuri leaned away.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yuuri, these bruises . . . "

Yuuri's face flared bright pink, and he shoved at Phichit's shoulder, scooting to the other end of the couch. He'd forgotten all about the hickies on his neck, hidden so easily by his growing hair. Memories of the previous night and the ghost of Viktor's mouth on his skin had him going even redder, and he put a self-conscious hand on his neck, hiding them from view.

 _"Phichit!"_

"If anything is going on - " Phichit started, voice low and dangerously hostile, and Yuuri shoved at him again, making a high-pitched noise of embarrassment.

"They're _hickies,"_ he squeaked out, and if his face grew any hotter he was sure it would catch fire. Phichit looked confused. He crept a little closer, waiting to see if Yuuri would let him, and reached out to touch the bruises again. Yuuri crossed his legs and looked away, unable to make eye contact out of sheer mortification.

"It looks like you've been mauled by something," Phichit said, bewildered. "These are harsh."

"Are they really that bad?" A slight poke had him flinching. Okay, maybe they were that bad. Usually they didn't hurt like bruises. Phichit laughed a little at that, his hand lingering.

"I was really worried for a second there! Now I know _way_ more about your sex life than I ever needed to. Viktor's really something - "

At that moment, the front door swung open, and Yuuri's blood froze. Phichit snatched his hand back quickly and they both turned to face the man in the doorway. Viktor stared at the scene before him - the takeout on the table, the kid on his couch, the close proximity between his lover and guest - and his lips turned into the briefest of frowns before flashing back up into his amiable smile. He slipped off his shoes and set his briefcase down before approaching Yuuri and planting a kiss on his head.

"Nice to see you, Phichit," he greeted warmly. "Can you excuse us? I'm sorry, but since I've just come back from a conference, we have much to discuss."

Phichit nodded quickly, gathering his food and hurrying to put his shoes on. "Not a problem! Sorry to intrude. See you later, Yuuri!"

The door slammed behind him, and Viktor's smile vanished. Ice cold eyes settled on his fiancé, and Yuuri shrunk back into the couch. Viktor was angry. He could see it. He cast his gaze downward, but not for long; svelte fingers tangled in his black locks, and his head was jerked back so he could meet Viktor's eyes. The Russian tilted his head, expression melting from cold anger into something Yuuri couldn't decipher.

"Takeout, a guest, someone else's hands on you . . . you really got up to mischief while I was gone." Yuri swallowed hard as the fingers in his hair let go, and Viktor settled on the couch. "Go pour me a drink. When you come back, I expect an explanation."

Yuuri nodded mutely and hurried to fetch some wine.


	2. Chapter 2

**this was going to be longer, but the next scene felt sort of forced in, so i cut it. it may take place next chapter, it may not.**

.-.-.-.-.

The next few days saw a complete change in routine. Every day Yuuri was to wake up at five in the morning, shower in ten minutes or less, feed and take out Makkachin, make breakfast for Viktor, eat a slice of toast, and begin exercise. Yuuri would start with his stretches, then start running laps around the neighborhood until Viktor was satisfied - sometimes just a few circles, sometimes until Yuuri was collapsing from exhaustion. He proceeded to pushups until his arms gave out, situps until his tailbone was bruised, lunges until his thighs screamed.

He supposed he deserved this. He went against Viktor's rules. It was amazing that Viktor even still loved him. Who would? Yuuri was a damn mess, always breaking rules, always destroying trust, being such a shitty fiancé. He was grateful, of course. Viktor should have abandoned him for betraying him like that, should have taken his ring back and kicked Yuuri to the curb to crawl back to his family, and yet instead he forgave him.

Yuuri was not allowed to have Phichit over anymore.

To Yuuri's dismay, Viktor also called off their plans to visit family. Instead, he continued to train and exercise, working his body to the point of exhaustion daily. It hurt to call up his family and tell them he couldn't visit, even more painful when he had to tell them that no, they could not come by, but he had to. It was what Viktor wanted.

Weeks passed, and the strict training regimen slowed. After dozens of rejected kisses and ignored love professions, Viktor's affection returned. The first time they kissed, Yuuri bawled. Viktor reminded him that crying was unsightly.

They returned to the rink soon after. Laps around the neighborhood were replaced with laps around the rink. Jumps were practiced. They began speculating ideas for a theme next year and drafting outfits - or rather, Viktor came up with ideas and Yuuri simply nodded along with whatever he mentioned. No breaks were had during skating, and Yuuri was not to socialize. Any time he was not skating, doing chores, or exercising was spent obediently at Viktor's side.

He was so happy that Viktor still loved him that he didn't even care all that much.

.-.-.-.-.

"Yuri would like you two to come with us."

Yuuri overheard the deep baritone as he skated past his fiancé and, in response, slowed to a halt. He looked back and, to his surprise, made out the distinct figures of Yurio and Otabek standing by Viktor. He was hesitant, but his curiosity overwhelmed him, and he skated over to the edge of the rink, resting his forearms against the edge.

"Yurio!" Happiness bubbled in his chest as the blond gave him his trademark mask of general disgust. He hadn't seen the kid in ages and missed him dearly, even if Yurio pretended not to like him. "And Otabek, too!"

Otabek offered him a raised hand in greeting. Yurio crossed his arms tightly and looked away. Yuuri glanced over at his fiancé and his good mood dropped in an instant - Viktor was staring him down, ice blue eyes cold and warning, and Yuuri wanted to shrink into nothing. Otabek cleared his throat. Yuuri could not decide whether he should skate away then or remain and listen - and his curiosity got the better of him.

"Yuuri Katsuki," he greeted in that low voice, always so formal, surprisingly talkative today. Though, he supposed, what with Yurio's stubborn disposition, _someone_ had to do the talking. "We want to invite you and Nikiforov out for dinner. To catch up."

All eyes were on him; even Yurio had glanced over, silent, observant. Otabek was patient and poker-faced. Viktor's gaze was warning him away from speaking. The coach offered a pleasant smile to their fellow skaters, waving a dismissive hand, though Yuuri could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Thank you," Viktor started, "but - "

"Katsudon can speak for himself."

It was the first time Yurio had spoken, as far as Yuuri knew. The young Russian was glaring up at the elder, nearly identical sets of icy blue orbs meeting in a furious challenge. A large hand settled on Yurio's shoulder, but he only seemed to relax minutely, still staring at Viktor as if daring him to speak once more. Sighing softly, Otabek looked back to Yuuri, and his nerves suddenly spiked. What was he supposed to do? To say?

"Would you like to join us?" he asked, the most calm of the lot, his voice soothing in a way Yuuri had never known Viktor's to be. The very thought made him guilty, and he looked away, only to catch his fiance's intense stare. He knew what to say. He knew what he was _supposed_ to say, at least. What Viktor wanted him to say. Politely decline, look happy, shoo them away.

And then his eyes turned to Yurio, and in an unexpected turn, his chest ached with an unfathomable sadness. There was a gentility and acceptance in his features, in the way they softened when he met Yuuri's gaze, a look of softness that he had not known the teenager was capable of showing towards human beings, rather than cats. He urged him to speak his mind. He implored him to be honest. He begged him to be himself.

"I would really like that," Yuuri heard himself say.

He didn't look Viktor in the face. He knew he would only see cold anger and disappointment. He found that he did not care if Viktor was mad or even punished him for it - it was worth the look of pride on both Yurio and Otabek's faces. And Viktor would relent, of course he would. He could not turn down the invitation now, even if the thought of going with them gave him a rather sour expression, though it was so fleeting that Yuuri was probably the only one to see it.

"Tonight, then," Otabek said, breaking the silence. He slung a comforting arm around Yurio's shoulders and waved farewell as they walked away. Yurio looked over his shoulder and stuck his tongue out at Yuuri.

There was a surprising warmth to the gesture.

All warmth vanished when he looked back at Viktor. He glared holes into Yuuri's very being, fury radiating like a tangible force. Yuuri could feel all the confidence and hope he'd gained vanish completely, and his limbs began to tremble. He wanted to shrink back, to hide, to run, but he did not move, could not even look away. Viktor took a deep, shaking breath, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Yuuri was even more terrified at the coldness that resided there.

"Twenty-five more laps," he said, and Yuuri obeyed. When he was finished, Viktor kissed him once, and nothing more.


End file.
